


A House on the Beach

by morcabre



Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-John Wick: Chapter 2 (2017), Translation of my own work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 00:48:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13112253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morcabre/pseuds/morcabre
Summary: Some time after the events of the second movie John Wick appears in the Continental. This is the story of Charon and Winston's journey that takes place after.





	A House on the Beach

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Домик на берегу](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12360930) by [morcabre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/morcabre/pseuds/morcabre). 



> Thanks to [TriumphShouts](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TriumphShouts/pseuds/TriumphShouts) for beta-reading this story

It was raining heavily outside, so Charon wasn't particularly in a hurry to go home. He decided to go through the Continental's corridors one last time and check if everything was in order. While he was walking, he thought he heard a noise and muffled conversation from Winston's room. Charon frowned and came to the door. There hadn’t been any secrets between him and Winston for a long time, and he wasn't about to let his boss start having them now. He entered and closed the door. There on the bed was John Wick, lying with as much comfort as was possible in his state. His shoulder and head were bandaged and Winston was leaning over him,doing something with a wound on his stomach. Winston flinched when he heard the door open and turned sharply, instinctively trying to hide John with his own body. Charon looked at the room with professional eyes, noticing the sheets wet from the rain and the blood and Winston's soiled shirt.

'I can explain,' said Winston.

'With all due respect, sir, I highly doubt that,' Charon replied. Winston frowned and his hand flinched as if going for his gun. 

Charon moved his weight from one foot to another. 'Give the sheets and the clothes to me, I'll get rid of them without anyone noticing,' he said shortly. Winston nodded, turned back to John and continued working on his wound.

Charon looked at the carpet stained with blood and the dog lying next to John. Then he went to get a bottle of bourbon. He will probably have to take the dog. After all, it could start barking at any point and draw attention to them. Surely that wouldn't do. But if he had the dog, it would surprise no one. He could've gotten used to having a pet when John's dog lived with him and wished to have one again. Something, of course, should be done about the carpet, but they could leave that for later. After all, if anyone entered the room and saw John Wick on the bed, a few blood spots on the floor would be the last of their problems.

***

Later, having finished caring for his guest, Winston sat comfortably in the chair opposite John with a glass of bourbon provided by Charon in his hand. From time to time he whirled it, making the amber liquid splash against the glass walls. He looked at Jonathan. The boy looked awfully tired. His life was rough lately, or rather, the hands of those who managed to get to him were plenty rough. Winston sighed. Recently he’d seen John like that too often.

'Do you have a plan?' asked Winston.

'If I had a plan I wouldn't be here,' said John almost gulping down bourbon from his own glass. He’d entered the Continental a few hours ago through the secret passage shown to him by Winston (with hope that Jonathan would never have to use it).

Winston winced and put his glass on the table.

'We should send you somewhere safe,' he put his elbows on the arms of the chair and laced his fingers. 'Asia? What are your thoughts on China?'

Jonathan snorted.

'You cannot honestly believe that I will let you stay here,' said Winston sharply. He leaned back in the   
chair and crossed his legs. 'I am, of course, very proud of this room's design, but it won't stand an assault. Naturally, you won't go anywhere until you're feeling better, but to leave you here is tantamount to killing you with my own hands. China has always lived by its own rules. You're a good killer and for your considerable talents they won't listen to what the High Table has to say about you.'

Jonathan finished his drink, put the glass on the table and nodded.

'I understand. I shouldn't have come here at all.'

'You shouldn't have,' Winston agreed. He paused, and almost physically felt how tense Jonathan suddenly became. 'I'm glad you did anyway.'

***

In the end it was little things that got them caught. The cook commented that first Winston wasn't eating anything at all because of the stress, but now started eating for two. Eddie, guided either by idle curiosity or jealousy, decided to look into what was happening in her favorite boss's rooms. They didn't close doors in the New York's Continental. There wasn't any reason for that - usually nobody would dare go where they weren't expected, and nobody had the time to adapt to the new status quo, even if the recent events considerably shaken it. So Eddie had no problem sneaking into Winston's room. She entered and stared in shock at the peacefully sleeping John Wick.

Of course, she told Charon about her findings, but not before contacting the mafia (two million dollars is a lot of money and she had an ill mother and a sister who needs to be put through college).

Later the same day Julian called Winston.

'You know I'm always glad to hear your voice,' he said after all the usual pleasantries. Julian spoke Italian, and his words were like music in Winston's ears. 'However, I am sorry to say that I am not calling with good news.'

Ah, more of a requiem, then, than a sonata.

By now, of course, John Wick wasn't at the Continental anymore. Winston had to speed up his plans but if everything would go as it should, soon Jonathan would be safe.

'The High Table has declared you excommunicado,' Julian stopped for a moment, expecting areaction, but Winston did not indulge him. 'I thought you would prefer to hear it from a friend. You have two hours to leave the Continental.'

If there was one thing Winston always liked about Julian, it was how he always went straight to business. Winston sighed and leaned down, resting an elbow on the window sill and pressing his forehead to the cool window glass. It was getting later in New York, the light in windows and on the streets started turning on and the city changed before his eyes. Winston liked it here, it would be a shame to leave. But it's not as if what he liked mattered anymore.

'Tell me, Julian, is there a contract? An open one?'

Julian sighed.

'Do you really need to ask?'

Winston looked at the passers-by for one more moment, straightened up and turned away.

'Thank you, Julian,' he said and hang up.

Dozens of scenarios of up-coming events rolled in his head, and none of them ended in the way he liked. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost missed Charon standing in the doorway.

'The car is ready, sir,' announced Charon and stepped back letting Winston go first. They left the Continental's ground in less than an hour.

***

They were three hours away from New York when the rain started. The decision to leave came without the need for discussion: New York had eyes and ears of the Bowery King all around, and Winston wasn't particularly eager to learn if the king valued his continued existence. 

Charon was driving. His eyes didn't leave the road and he was gripping the wheel maybe a bit too hard. Winston was sitting next to him and looking out the window.

He thought that it was a very illogical decision. He was hardly going to fall asleep, so what was the point in them both staying awake. They would have to drive for a long while, after all.

He was just going to turn to Charon and suggest they switch places when the car rammed into them from the back - the first sign of the hunt opened for him. They both looked in the rear view mirror but couldn't really see anything because of the rain and the darkness. Charon sped up. The dark-blue BMW passed ahead and crashed into them again. There were two in the car. Winston seemed to recognized the driver. His name was Frank or Fred or something like that. He was working for the Russians and half a month ago Winston had denied him access to the Continental. Someone was been a sore loser, it seemed. The girl next to him Winston haven't met before.

Charon tried to lose them but their pursuers followed close, hitting the car from time to time. Charon looked at Winston and the man nodded. Charon sped up again, coming a little ahead, then spun and stopped at the roadside. They jumped out of the car and fell to the ground on the side opposite from the hired guns. By the time they realized what happened, the killers were already a few dozen meters away. They stopped there and got out of the car. They released a round of bullets at the Winston and Charon's car and they leaned even lower against the ground.

The former owner of the Continental looked at Charon. His friend was nervously clenching a Glock. Winston himself had a Desert Eagle in his hand. He smiled encouragingly and put his free hand on Charon's knee. Without letting it go, Winston listened to the footsteps. The killers were approaching them quickly and confidently. When they came close enough, Winston jumped to his feet and made two shots. Frank or Fred and the girl collapsed to the ground. He got Frank in the head but the girl was still alive, just injured. Winston came closer to her and shot her in the head. He snorted, almost disappointed by the victory being so easy, and put away the gun.

'Idiots.'

He was almost offended that someone decided to go after him with so little prep and seriously expected to get him. He almost hoped that others would prove to be more competent, otherwise their journey will turn out to be busy yet disappointingly boring.

Winston came back to Charon and calmly met his worried gaze.

'That's the last chance to change your mind and go back,' he said.

Charon shook his head. Winston smiled, held out his hand and helped him up. They approached the dark-blue BMW that looked much better than their car. This time Winston took the wheel and without saying another word they drove away.

***

They stopped for a rest at a motel on the road out of Prescott. It was still hot in Arkansas this time of year, and Winston satisfied his thirst with cheap whiskey they bought at a gas station. It was probably the worst he’d ever drunk, but Winston wasn't complaining. Once, when he was a young man, he’d survived two days only on vile coffee and sheer determination only. It was the time he got his first contract, and he was full of ambition.

Winston's new kingdom had tattered walls and a severe lack of furniture: just two narrow beds, a nightstand between them and a radio on the windowsill. Charon turned it on and twisted the dial until quiet sounds of jazz filled the room. Winston felt the need to reminisce about their glorious past, but Charon sat down next to him and distracted Winston by removing the bandage from his shoulder. Fortunately, the wound was healing well. Charon frowned and started bandaging it anew. Winston reached for his smartphone and looked up the news sent to him by his spies in New York.

Home was in chaos, apparently. The High Table tried to appoint a new head of the Continental, but the new man was killed the same day, and they didn't repeat their mistake. Left without supervision, madmen did whatever they wanted (for who, other than madmen or the truly desperate would choose to dabble in their trade?). The ensuing mess attracted attention of the authorities, and the military was sent into the city. New York started to resemble either a civil war or a slaughter, and the people involved in it, unfortunately, knew how to use a gun.

Winston put down the phone and snorted.

'Every day the new generation manages to disappoint me more and more.'

'Indeed, sir?' answered Charon, his attention taken by the wound on Winston's shoulder.

'Did I ever tell you about my trip to Marrakesh?' Winston took the glass and drank, wincing. Charon abandoned his task for a moment and looked at his boss with interest. 'I was young back then, of course. But I already had some reputation in our crowd. There was an arms dealer in Marrakesh, don't remember his name, but it's not important. He wanted to expand his venture, and went where he wasn't welcome. The High Table wanted to get rid of him, and they wanted it to be done quietly. They offered me an exclusive contract. I took it, of course, and flew there the next day.'

Winston smirked, finished his whiskey and put the glass on the nightstand. Charon finished bandaging his shoulder and was ready to move to his own bed, but Winston stopped him.

'Where are you going, exactly?' he said and moved to the side. 'Sit next to me.'

Charon knew this habit of his boss - under stress he always sought human contact so he sat down next to him without saying a word. The bed was narrow, and their shoulders were touching.

'What happened next, sir?' asked Charon.

'Well, you see, the High Table forgot to mention that they’d offered the same exclusive contract to ten other people. Just wanted to be sure, you see. Not particularly honest of them, of course. Anyway, we all came to Marrakesh and suddenly discovered that the money, and rather a lot of it, could be claimed by more people than any of us would've liked.' Winston swallowed. 'Four of them killed off each other, but I had to hunt down the others. But, you see, it was all done quietly, as requested. To get rid of the arms dealer, after all of this, was an easy thing to do.'

Winston glanced at Charon, who it seemed was looking at him this whole time.

'I'm telling you this just to make a point, Charon. That if we wanted to slaughter each other, nobody would ever learn about it.' Winston huffed. 'Do you know how I came into this business?'

Charon's eyes flashed with curiosity.

'No, sir.'

'You would never believe this,' Winston laughed at himself, quietly. 'I just wanted to travel. And to make a lot of money, of course. But first of all, to travel. And in the end I spent most of my life in New York.'

They sat quietly for some time, until Winston asked:

'And how did you get dragged into this?'

Charon smiled.

'You know better than anyone else, sir, that I made a mediocre assassin,' he stopped smiling suddenly. 'But at the time, I didn't have any other choice.'

Winston hummed thoughtfully.

'You might've not made a good assassin, but you are indispensable in what you do, Charon,' Winston lowered his head and continued quietly, 'I'm almost sorry you had to leave the Continental because of me. But I'm going to be selfish and say that your place is next to me. I couldn't have done it without you.'

'Of course, you would have, sir,' objected Charon and put his hand on Winston's knee. 'But you don't have to.'

***

They were hiding in an abandoned warehouse, and so far had managed to successfully fight off the assassins who surrounded them. Winston and Charon had been on the run for a few months already. A couple of times they had to change the course to shake off the hired guns, but they still moved far to the south. Winston was never vain and didn't count his victories, so he had no idea, how many people he and Charon killed already. But their hands were probably up to not even elbows, but to shoulders in blood, metaphorically speaking. This blood wasn't all theirs, despite the multiple wounds they’dsustained. 

The only problem was that some time ago Winston got hit in the stomach and the wound was still bleeding.

'Did I ever tell you about Bill?' asked Winston, his voice hoarse.

'No, sir,' asked Charon while carefully peering out from behind their hiding places.

'He was a nice guy, and very young when I met him. A friend asked me to teach him some things, and I even took him on a hit with me once. We were in Budapest. A beautiful city. Kind of a shame we didn't have a chance to just walk around. Someone warned our target, and we were met with more force than we expected. Bill was hurt, and no wonder, really.'

Winston swallowed hard and smirked.

'I never regret anything. And this thing, with Bill, I didn't regret either.'

Charon stopped looking out for a moment and glanced at him. Winston met his gaze, calmly.

'I asked a lot from you during our years together, Charon. I'm not really sure if I have the right to ask now.'

Charon's hand, the one that held the gun, shuddered. They remained silent for a while, not breaking the eye contact, and then Charon hugged Winston, without letting go of the gun. Winston laughed quietly and hugged him back.

'They promised a lot of money for this hit, you know. Buy yourself a house on the beach and never regret it.'

They held each other without saying anything more. Then Charon squirmed in Winston's hands, as if he was trying to get out. Winston felt hard metal of the gun pressed into his chest. He closed his eyes.

The sound of the shot that killed Winston drowned in the noise of assassins firing at them.

***

The sound of waves hitting the beach and seagulls cries was broken with a car approaching the house. John Wick stopped, stepped out of the car and let the dog out. Charon was already waiting for him on the doorstep. John came to him, and they sat down on the stairs. The dog put its head on John's knees, and the man absently scratched his ear.

'The High Table offered me the New York's Continental,' said John after some time.

'Yes, I've heard,' answered Charon.

'I would need a concierge,' John continued and looked at his companion. Charon was looking at the waves coming back and forth.

'I'm afraid, I have to decline, Mister Wick,' finally, he answered.

John turned away. They remained silent, looking at the ocean. It was good here, John though. Calm.

'I will send you a list of suitable candidates,' said Charon.

John nodded.

'I'd be grateful.'

They sat in silence, again.

'Will you ever come back?' asked John.

Charon smiled and looked at him.

'I have to admit, my employer was a stronger man than I am. It is very hard not to feel regret Mister Wick.' 

He got up and went into the house. The door closed after him with a quite sound.


End file.
